


fragment: he said

by traveller



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-04
Updated: 2004-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>He said I am put together with a pot and scissors<br/>Out of old clippings<br/>No one took the trouble to make an article</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	fragment: he said

Sometimes Orlando will close his eyes and he will cover his face with his hands and he will press firmly, down-in, with the pads of his fingers pushing on the softness of his eyes. For a moment, before the shades of black start to flicker and swirl, he will see the world in negative, he will see the past and future transpose, he will see blue eyes looking back.

 _He said I am put together with a pot and scissors  
Out of old clippings  
No one took the trouble to make an article_

Sometimes Viggo will call and not leave a message and then a few days later a page from a magazine will arrive in a plain brown envelope, smelling sharply of black marker, and Orlando will read the words on top of the words, he will try to translate what Viggo says into what Viggo means. It's never obvious, but it's always simple.

Once, long ago, they took a weekend road trip in an old van the colour of a rotting avocado, with upholstery that smelled a bit like wet dog. After a while of driving in the desert, windows down and bare feet propped on the dash, singing along with the AM radio it didn't matter, nothing mattered. They pulled off the road with Vegas on the horizon, a shimmering heat-mirage almost close enough to touch, and they slept in the back, in a nest of blankets that were soaked with Viggo's scent, his sweat and his sweetness and his three dollar aftershave.

In the morning Viggo fucked Orlando until he couldn't breathe, until the desert heat took the place of the air in Orlando's lungs and burned like Viggo's fingers on his hips, like Viggo's cock inside him, until everything he thought he knew about himself melted and smeared and faded away.

Once, long ago, it seemed possible.

Sometimes Orlando will close his eyes and he will wonder when it was and how he could've forgotten. He will wonder when he became a series of carefully crafted anecdotes, a sheaf of glossy pages, instead of a person in the back of an old van that smelled funny, a person with a past and a future and a present, a present kissing him just there, just there.

**Author's Note:**

> *title and quotation from t.s. eliot, "fragment: he said the universe"


End file.
